Resident Evil: The Outbreak
by Flawless-Weapon
Summary: As the light on the situation is failing, the story follows two US army squadrons equipped to handle the situation, or was suppose to be believed. Undoubtedly, both the squad's are heading for destruction. RESUMING STORY - FINALLY! SORRY FOR THE WAIT!
1. Chapter 1

Resident Evil:

A Failing Light

Written by Steven Reed

Chapter one

May 18th, 2007

Several news reports have been coming in about a small outbreak in an eastern coastal city. Sources are trying to connect the incident to that of the Raccoon City mishap, where the whole community, comprised of about roughly 12,000, were overcome with 'zombie-like' symptoms. The behavior of those specified individuals were riotous, causing a mass panic that had the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company holding their breath.

"In no way was our attempt to quarantine the city reckless." States Umbrella Spokesman Nathan Ingram. "If you remember correctly, our laboratories in that specific region had come under control of the renegade scientist, William Birkin, now believed to be deceased as a result of the action taken to contain the breach."

The town of Foxboro, Mass. Is currently under evacuation as some of the cities occupants have succumbed into the symptoms of this as-of-yet unknown virus.

"We assure you our mistakes made previously in the similar case will not happen again."

We will keep you informed on the developing situation, where we hope will end swiftly.

May 24th, 2007

As the publics eyes have been drawn to the east coast, evacuees begin to travel into the Midwest, seeking refuge from the escalating violence in several large-scale cities in New England. Once thought as a small uprising of anarchic chaos has turned into a mass riot, and eyewitness reports stream in by the millions. Florida Governor Brad Daniels is desperately trying to contain the borders of the state of Florida.

"I have not yet declared martial law in the state of Florida, but however, we are shutting down all highways entering and exiting from the Miami-Dade County, due to severe rioting in that area."

Unlike the Florida Governor, several other state governors have blocked off all access to capitol cities and other major cities, declaring martial law and desperately calling for military aide.

May 27th, 2007

Today, the first signs of a military presence have commenced as the virus continues to spread through out the nation, jolting the country into a state of chaos. Earlier this morning, spokesperson for the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company Nathan Ingram acknowledged the widespread effects of this viral leak. It is now believed that this has been a biological terrorist attack within the heart of America

"In an attempt to console the people of this nation, Umbrella has opened up several Vaccination stations throughout the country, in an attempt to control the leakage. If you or someone else has come under the symptoms of this virus, we desperately urge you to seek a vaccine at one of our Vaccination stations, courtesy of Umbrella. "

The symptoms of this widespread virus have been examined and released to the press. The victim will first feel an incline of temperature, causing somewhat of a fever. The skins pigment will then become pale, often signs of advanced viral activity. This is followed by the need to scratch the porous regions of the skin. Soon thereafter, the victim will be in a state of coma, and the eyes begin to fill with an egg-white film around the corona. The victim will then become deceased, or so it is believed. The corpse then becomes reanimated, with no apparent knowledge of the hosts' previous life. The viral stage varies from person to person, and the process can take from 3 to 5 hours. It is highly recommended that if anyone comes in contact with a contagion, they need to report to one of the vaccination stations controlled and operated through out the nation.

May 28th, 2007

Several more new stories have been streaming in now what seems like days since the incident first surfaced. The Mayor of Los Angeles has issued that districts 1 through 5 shut off to the public, due to infection.

"We are in the process of locating our city officials, but to no avail. We believe they are struggling with their own personal matters at the moment."

Corporal Ben Johnson peered out the window of the UH-3H, his blood pressure rising as he gripped the cold steel of his M4A3. He let a sigh escape his breath, inaudible over the loud hum of the choppers engine. He was green. Fresh out of a crash-course training session provided by the Agency he worked for. He shot a look back towards the red cargo light with a fixed, unfaltering look

_Umbrella... weird name for a company... _He thought.

A soft, red light filled the cargo bay of the helicopter, letting him know that the time was not right for them to jump. Glancing over his shoulder, Johnson was relieved to see that the same anxious, wavering look was present on the faces of his comrades. At least he wasn't the only one that had to endure the events of the quickly unfolding situation.

"One minute to deployment." The mechanical sounding voice aired over the choppers PA system.

Umbrella had deployed the small, 30-man crew, most of whom were directly provided by the National Guard to investigate the disappearance of Los Angeles' city officials. They were subject to mission change at any time during their investigation. Johnson averted his gaze towards the front, taking in the cool, collected composure of their mission leader, Captain Jack Miller, trying to be more relaxed just as he was.

"Okay, we've got thirty seconds left until we make the drop. Make sure you secure your weaponry and items!" yelled the Captain, his voice almost lost in the mechanic drone of the helicopter.

Soon, before Johnson knew it, the cargo bay was bathed with a green light, assuring its occupants that it was time for the jump.

"Alright boys, we're landing in the outskirts of LA. Rendezvous will be at the Ringo-Oscar-Tango location. Input into your HUD immediately!" stated Captain Miller.

The corporal fumbled with his HUD device before turning on his communications-link. Encrypted, as always, to ignore the incessant rabble of civilian frequencies.

"Let's go!"

They started to issue out in a single-file line, Johnson's heart starting to beat faster with each step taking him closer to the cargo hatch. Before he knew it, he had coalesced into the darkness of his night-time freefall, ever so more dangerous since he couldn't see how close the ground was.

A soft voice reverberated through the darkness into his HUD, stating that he was fifteen hundred meters from the ground and his parachute was beginning to deploy. His 'chute came out and jerked him into the nasty realization that he was actually going through with this. He started to glide towards the tree line below.

Corporal Johnson looked towards the horizon, where the city of LA stood. All around him, he saw the unmistakable silhouettes of his companions, his partners, also falling towards the earth with the aide of their parachutes.

Giant plumes of smoke rose up from the cities' buildings. The place looked like a war zone. Like hell, beckoning him with a smoky finger. And if one was to strain their hearing just enough, you could make out what sounded like the screams of an unknown number of LA residents.

His feet and body then became tangled in a rustle of leaves, following a loud thump. He landed in a tree. A damned tree.

"Shit..."

Johnson wrestled with his harness, trying to free himself of its grasp. While he was in his plight, a small, disfigured shadow ran by the tree he just happened to be stuck in. Then another shadow followed in the previous ones' wake.

Johnson blinked twice, trying to register what he just saw.

"No... Can't be..." he whispered softly to himself.

He continued with his so far unsuccessful fidget with his military issued parachute.

**_BAM! BAM! BAM!_**

A loud, ear-deafening sound enticed his ears. He sat on his perch, his hands beginning to shake.

_It must've been those _things_ that I saw!_

Johnson quickly undone his harness and fell harshly to the ground, slightly thinking the ground would be closer. He grabbed his M4 and ran towards the source, several people around him joining in at trying to locate their troubled comrade.

**_BAM! BAM!_**

Johnson instinctively recognize the noise as a shotgun blast, probably that of Corporal Joey Connors, who was known for his infamous shotgun work. The noise died down and several voices were thrown into the confusion. Johnson approached Connors, who was standing over two unrecognizable bodies. Several soldiers came into sight, trying to uncover their first mystery thus far.

"Dogs… The virus affects dogs." Connors said, pumping a few more rounds into his SPAS-12.

"It attacks dogs too?" a voice rang out from an unknown soldier.

Captain Miller approached from an unknown location, parting his way through the crowd and standing over the dogs' corpse.

"The virus can attack any living organism. Watch out for their blood. It carries the virus." Captain Miller paused, looking around. "Everyone here?" His hues scanned the crowd, taking in faces and registering names.

"We're missing two people." Answered Johnson, slowly taking names and faces among the crowd.

"Jackson and Hughes. Are you here?" no answer.

Miller tapped his helm, activating his comm-link. He stood there, his pallid features showing no signs of optimism.

"They must've taken off their helmets. Alright people, you get lost, this happens. For all I know they could be dead."

"Poor kids…" breathed Connors.

"Saddle up, we're going on with the mission. As of now Jackson and Hughes are MIA. Do an equipment check while I radio in for confirmation."

Miller turned and parted his way through the crowd, everyone else following in synchronization. Johnson turned and gazed into the thickening forest, feeling nothing but remorse for the two lost souls in this survival horror.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

Private 1st class Eddy Jackson had a rough landing coming in, and his legs being stiff from the flight to this location didn't help much of the impact, if any. He got up and quickly undone his harness, releasing his parachute. Jackson looked around for his lost rifle, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. He then took out his sidearm, a Smith & Wesson SW1911 and quickly ducked behind a tree, clearly seeing that he was way off course since he hadn't spotted anyone from his unit.

"Damnit… my luck too… middle of fu—"

"HEY!" a loud whisper shot through the darkness and still of the night.

Jackson looked up into the leaves of a nearby tree, where the source of the voice came from. The man in hiding moved around in his equipment, looking as if to free himself and—THUMP—down he came.

"Ow! Goddamnit that hurt!"

Jackson recognized that as the voice of Pvt. 1st class Mike Hughes, thrown fresh out of school and into combat, just like him.

_At least I'm not on my own and he's in the same situation as me…_

"Dude I think we're lost." Said Hughes in a hushed whisper.

"I know. I lost my rifle on the way down… don't know where the hell it went."

"Well maybe we can find where our unit is. Over there, I think I see a cabin."

Hughes pointed down the sloping hill and between the trees, where a dimly lit house could be seen 100 meters away. They both began walking quickly in a crouch position, trying further to conceal their outline into the night. Kneeling behind a fallen log, they lessened the distance to 25 meters, weapons loosely fixated in the house's direction. Dim candle light emitted behind the broad window panes, and the two recruits could see the house more clearly now.

The house stood at least two stories high, its ominous shape standing out against the moon in the clearing it was located in. The front extended out left-to-right, 50 yards in each direction. The house was a good size, and Jackson estimated it had at least 25-30 rooms beneath that recently remodeled plaster. Another notable thing was that every window seemed to be boarded, and more than two dozen vehicles were parked in the driveway to the left of the house.

"Seems like a lot of people barricaded themselves to protect them from those zombie-things." Said Hughes quietly.

"Hmm… where are they now?"

As if on cue, the front door creaked open and flooded the porch with light. A figure stood out from the light, making it harder to recognize the individual. Hughes began to stand up when Jackson pulled him down with a gloved hand.

"Wait!" he whispered. "Something doesn't see right."

Hughes looked at him with a concerned, hard-thinking look, taking in the vibes he was sensing from him. He kneeled back down next to Jackson and trained his weapon onto the porch. The person walked forward towards the steps, preparing to descend down them—and it tripped, falling on its face with an ensuing groan. That caught the two somewhat off guard, not quite expecting to have their concerns proven so abruptly. They had their weapons trained straight down the pathway between the trees, where the front porch stood, bathed in the soft light that escaped out the door.

Several more figures where shadowed into the scene, succeeding in their descents down the stairs. The downed figure stood up and hung its hands low to the ground, more groaning coming from hits wretched-looking breath.

Jackson's face lost its color, confirming Hughes suspicions.

_These must be the things from the TV…_

Hughes shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable prone position. His heavy boot landed on a twig, causing a low, audible _crack!_ to sound out into the still evening.

"Oh man!" Hughes let a small whisper escape his lips, his face twisting into a contorted expression, as if he was about to apologize for his incompetence.

Several of the creatures heard the sound, their pale features and dull, lifeless eyes resting onto the fallen log, spotting the two soldiers almost instantly.

"Run." Spoke Jackson rather quickly.

Jackson turned on his heels and dashed off into the opposite direction of the house, Hughes hot on his trail. The zombies followed in a pursuit to destroy their humanlike existence, an unfathomable hate burning inside the hosts of the virus. With exceptional speed, the undead had lessened the distance between them and Hughes, closing in on their prey with cold, rotting hands.

_Damn those things can move!_

"Oh shit!"

Hughes turned around just as he became encased in one of the creatures grasp. He raised his M4A3 towards the creatures gut and squeezed the trigger.

_**Rat-Tatatat!**_

The automatic burst to life in rapid succession, tearing through the things gut and ripping out what entrails the zombie managed to keep on its viral transition. Most of the bullets had gone through its belly, hitting a few of the others. Hughes fell back onto his Kevlar bag as the creatures weight had been forced upon him at this point.

"Eddy help me!"

Jackson stopped quickly and turned around, his pistol eye-level, allowing him to quickly take aim at whatever happened to be in his wake. He noticed Hughes was flat on his back, wrestling with the creature as what was left of his jaw began to open and close, snapping loudly at his throat. He began to squeeze the trigger of his pistol when the trees around him erupted with muzzle flashes.

"Holy sh--"

Jackson hunkered down towards the ground, his ears screaming from the loudness of the gunfire. After what seemed like several minutes, the gunfire began to cease, with a few itchy trigger-fingers squeezing in some last shots, followed by someone yelling from the source of the gunfire. The smell of cordite and gunpowder flowed through the air, as the smoke lingered and stayed.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Enemy down!"

Jackson looked around and saw several shadows rise up from the earthen floor. He shot a glance towards Hughes, who was pushing the corpse off of him. He groaned in agony, smelling the awful smell, then stood up. They were approached by an army soldier, or at least that's what Jackson thought they were, judging by the green fatigues that they wore.

"Well, you're lucky you ran into us. That was quite a party you were haulin'." Said the nearest soldier, who approached Jackson from out of the darkness.

Jackson looked around him and noticed at least 15 dead creatures laid sprawled out behind them, including the one that was on Hughes.

"Sergeant Bill Hawkins, we're with the U.S. army. You guys must be the Umbrella boys that we're supposed to meet up with in the city."

Jackson looked at the man who approached him. His friendly demeanor caused him to loosen up a bit.

"Pvt. 1st class Eddy Jackson." He took the mans hand and shook it, continuing to explain his dilemma. "This here is Michael Hughes, same rank. We're way off course from our position. Guess that's what happens when they give you two days of nighttime freefall training…"

Hawkins let out a small chuckle, breaking the seriousness of their situation.

"Guess so, huh? Well I'm guessing you'll be falling in with us."

Jackson looked around and noticed that Hawkins unit was 30+ in men, so falling in with them would be the smartest move to make.

"Yes sir, that would be a very good idea." Replied Hughes, speaking before Jackson acknowledged the superiors question.

"Alright then, let's saddle it up! There's a house 125 meters in the direction you guys came from, and I'm guessing that's where your buddies originated from. We're going to check it for any survivors. " Hawkins nudged his rifle towards the house's direction, and began to walk, his men following loosely behind in a single-file formation. Jackson followed closely next to Hawkins, trying to get as much information from him about the nation's situation.

"It's not looking good. LA is pretty much overrun, except for hundreds of survivors not knowing what to do. Not to mention… my son's somewhere in that mess. I hope he'll be okay." Hawkins face caught a serious tone, as did his voice.

They approached the façade of the house, noticing that the front door stood wide open, a crimson trail of blood smeared all over the door and porch. Stopping in front of the house, Jackson once again looked at the ominous shape that stood against the night, a horrible feeling rising up from the pit of his gut.

He sighed and gripped the steel of his pistol, not quite ready for what the night was about to bring him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

May 29th, 2007

Today we broadcast from our main offices in LA. Sources say that we must avoid all largely-populated areas, including cities and airports. It seems that the evacuations have caused a mass panic. The airports have fallen victim to the contagion and the vaccination stations that were opened to the public have become a dangerous, infectious area, now being shut off from the public. Several multi-lane highways are now heavily congested, and the people trapped in those places have abandoned their vehicles, now causing vehicle entry into LA seemingly impossible. We have a news correspondent in the area to keep us informed. Bill:

"Thanks Rick… you need… I'm here on the scene… and what… coming… people are panic… and…"

Just a second, we've lost the feed temporarily. Our stations satellite generator isn't running at full capacity, and our backup generator is thirty stories down, in the basement floor. We do not have access to it at this time, due to infection. We'll see—Wait just a second…

"The U.S. … we need hel… ACK—"

Someone get him out of there! Sorry, I can't do this anymore. I've got to get out of here!

Steve awoke to the morning sun beating intense rays of UV on his face. His head was throbbing and he felt a warm liquid run down the back of his scalp.

"What the… "

He stood up in a dazed fashion, rubbing his head and trying to remember what had happened.

_Okay, you got up for school this morning. Got in the truck. Came to school and—can't remember._

Steve looked around the parking lot, recognizing the eerie silence that surrounded him like a thick blanket. Everything seemed too quiet for a normal, end-of-the-year school day. His truck's driver side door stood wide open, and his books were strewn all across the parking lot. A small pool of blood rested in the space his head was laying in. Indeed there were several vehicles parked all around him, but missing its occupants. Steve craned his neck to the side, trying to get rid of the stiff feeling creeping up on him, when he saw his friend Dave not but fifty yards away, on the other side of the parking lot.

"Oh thank god! DAVE!" yelled Steve, relief flooding into his emotions.

Dave turned his head quickly towards Steve, his pale features lifeless in the early morning sun. Ivory hues narrowed into a grimace, and Dave began to approach.

_Wait... what's going on…_

He looked closer at Dave, trying to process what he was seeing. His best friend was robbed of his lower jaw, and his tongue was hanging down the front of his throat, which was drenched in blood, turning his white shirt into a crimson mess. By then, Dave had taken on a full sprint, intent on running into Steve.

"Dave! What the hell happened! Dude are you—"

**_Boom! _**Dave crashed on top of Steve with a powerful slam, causing both of them to fall on the ground.

"Dave, man, get offa me!"

Steve wrestled with him for several seconds; Dave's larger from beginning to overpower him. That's when he saw the dull, humanless pallor staring at him with white, ghost-like eyes. Steve knew then that something wasn't right. The riots. The people. The 'zombie-like' behavior.

"Oh my god…"

Steve struggled with the dead man for a few more seconds before slamming his head into the side panel of the truck, but to no avail. Blood from Dave's missing lower jaw trickled onto his throat and shirt. Then all of a sudden, Dave was lying on top of Steve, motionless.

Steve looked up, beyond the corpse, to see the figure of a woman, blood-stained rock in hand. Quickly pushing off his former friend, Steve stood up, smearing the blood on his neck and shirt in an attempt to make himself more presentable. The young girl, roughly around his age--though maybe a grade below—dropped the rock with a growing look of disgust spreading across her features.

"Th-thanks." Steve shuddered a bit, not quite ready for this to happen; but nevertheless, he needed to keep a cool, collected demeanor to lead them out of this situation. "What in the hell is going on?"

"Quickly," the girl spoke, running around the side of the truck. "We have to get out of here. They're everywhere! Even inside the school!"

Steve hesitated, not wanting his questions to go unanswered but regardless, he stepped into the driver's seat of the silver Ford and shut the door.

"Aya, right? I've seen you around before."

"Yeah, that's me. And I know who you are."

They sat there for a second looking at each other. At least he wasn't stuck with an unattractive woman. But given the circumstances, looks had nothing to do with their survival.

"I came to school this morning," continued Aya. "And Mrs. Green tried to bite my arm when I was trying to help her! That's when I took off running for the parking lot, looking for anyone who might be alive… Luckily I found you… "

Steve began to thank her, but just as he opened his mouth a large hand swatted at his window. They both jumped as a result, startled but not surprised. A smudgy, blood-stained smear spread across the window, fallowed by the gaping stare of a student who was intent on eating their very existence. He reached for the keys and started the truck and jammed it into reverse. Pressing down on the gas, they began to go backwards.

The rear bumper smashed into the bodies of approaching zombies, toppling over them in a mushy screech that halted their process only slightly. After this, Steve had put the truck into drive and screeched away, leaving the pursuing victims in their dust.

"Okay, so anyway, my cell phone barely works." Aya went on. "Looks like some idiot rammed their vehicle into the cell tower. Besides that, we've got to get to my place. I have to check on my mom."

"I don't know how we're going to get there." Stated the driver, Steve.

As if to explain what he said, they approached the suburban exit which was cluttered by a mass of abandoned vehicles. Several of the undead walked aimlessly about the variety of cars and trucks, seemingly searching the vehicles for any sign of life.

"Unless you want to walk."

Steve felt the life almost drain out of the girl, her face filling with sad emotion.

"Look, my dad works for the army. He told me if anything happens to come to his base, which is on the other side of the city."

He tried to console her, but she straightened up a bit. Obviously Aya would undoubtedly hold her own in a similar situation, not to be taken lightly. He felt the strong vibes emanate from her, sensing that she would be a strong companion on their newly prescribed journey. Steve pressed down on the gas a bit more, urging the vehicle forward. They passed the suburban exit and continued down a long, narrow country road. In the distance, they could see the towering buildings of LA pressed against the grey sky.

Steve fidgeted with the radio dial, desperately searching the radio waves for an explanation to their problems. He found one with a male voice broadcasting from somewhere inside the city.

…I don't think Dan made it. I can here them knocking on my door now, trying to lure me out into their world. We have accomplished so much, yet a single virus seems to be destroying our very existence. I've gotten reports that China is experiencing mass levels of infection, as is Canada and Mexico. There hasn't been any confirmation that it is an airborne virus, but I KNOW that it spreads through contact. Rick, that bastard. He was our station supervisor, and he took off in the chopper. I don't blame him. His dead wife was chasing him through the halls of the 50th floor.

Most of our communications have been disabled, with the exception of the radio. The towers still somewhat intact, but jerry committed suicide by jumping off of it this morning. He was infected, and he knew it. If anyone is listening, anyone at all, avoid the city AT ALL COST. They roam the streets in huge numbers. The military blockade a few blocks away exploded not too long ago and I watched helplessly as the soldiers died one after another. I do, however, see one of them. He's stuck on a 2nd floor balcony. Poor guy. I don't think he's aware of the creatures inside of the Oneoke building.

There are more of those nightmares out there. Just to warn whoever is listening… unimaginable creatures that shouldn't even be in the darkest dreams of sickest person. I won't be alive for much longer. The knocking on the door has turned into banging, and it won't hold much longer. There are at least 10 of them out there, in the hallway. Listen, whoever's out there. Don't make the same mistake I did! The only way to stop them, you must--**_BAM!_** -- No, stay away from me! GET AWAY—

Steve shut the radio off. The demoralizing tone that the man on the radio had only made their spirits sink further. Steve continued driving, and Aya kept messing with her phone.

"What is that?" Steve asked, slowing the truck down a bit.

50 yards away a large diesel truck sat parked to the side of the road. On the trailer a giant umbrella insignia decorated the side. Several humvee's accompanied the truck, followed by the unmistakable military issued sand bags that flanked the front of the vehicles. Bodies were strewn across the road, and Steve recognized it almost instantly.

"Vaccination station…" he said quietly to himself.

Aya looked at him and blinked, before the words registered.

"Ohh, those are for the infected people, right? I heard about those on the news."

"Looks like there were too many infected people… Now they're all dead."

As if on cue, a body began to move on the ground, pushing itself up from the hard concrete; a soldier dressed in a soldier's uniform. The man stood up in a drunken fashion and let his arms dangle to his side. Steve hit the gas, jolting them both forward, through the blockade with a crash and slammed into the body of the dead man.

"Hold on!"

He pressed down on the gas even more; building up speed as he rumbled through the vaccination station, passed the Umbrella truck and assortment of Hummer's. He averted his eyes away from the road momentarily to take a look through his rear view mirror. Several of the bodies that littered the street were now standing up, rotted arms pushing free from the ground. Once part of the LA community, the dead patrons reached their arms out after the truck, trying to embrace the metallic shell of the speeding vehicle.

They increased the distance between them and the roadside station, thundering past the empty fields and mountainous terrain that sat on either side of them.

"Okay, we've got to get through the city to get where were going. Are you with me on this one?"

Aya nodded, a look of determination in her eyes that became contagious. Steve felt a rush of excitement as he went over the plans in his head. In the approaching distance, the city of LA presented itself in an inauspicious way; no signs of power within any of the buildings and giant clouds of black smoke rose up from unknown locations throughout the city.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

Ben Johnson itched the underside of his chin. The intense sunlight beat across the exposed portion of his neck as it inscribed in and out of the rainy clouds. He shifted uneasily within his uniform, trying to rid himself of his itchy feeling. Captain Miller addressed his squad before they set out. First, after they got a head count, Miller radioed in their successful drop. Umbrella had then issued orders to Captain Miller to meet up with A National Guard unit inside the city. Now supposedly they had a vaccination station up and running and they were taking in several survivors at once. They reported that they needed assistance due to their vaccine supplies running low. They were told to sit tight as Miller's unit was heading their way.

Now they're here; walking slowly out from the woods onto a deserted highway road that met at a three-way intersection. The road that was adjacent the highway led into the city, on an overpass.

Captain Jack Miller crouched next to an abandoned vehicle, taking a long cylinder-like metallic tube out from his side-pack.

"Suppressors equip." said Miller silently into his comm-link.

Everyone else, including Johnson, down the single file line rustled through their equipment, taking out identical pieces of accessory and screwing them onto the nozzles of their weapons. That is, except Connors, who withdrew his SPAS-12 and brought out his 9mm, suppressor and all.

Captain Miller remained in his crouching position, walking in between the lines of abandoned vehicles. Everyone followed closely behind. The overpass extended out at least half a mile heading into the city, over the highway and buildings that were below. Johnson stuck his head out over the guard rail and scanned the highway beneath them; same scene. Congested highway littered with paper, trash, and abandoned vehicles. More than three dozen or so bodies sprawled all over the road. Distinctive groaning could be heard from below, and Johnson smelled it before he saw it; zombies. Several of them wandering without a given purpose. He contorted his face before bringing his head back over the rail.

"Jesus Christ…"

Johnson spotted Miller's fist pump into the air once, and they reflexively knew to stop, as they did. Miller spoke into his comm-link.

"I need men watching the rear. Make sure those bastards don't sneak up on us."

Miller came to rest behind a minivan, peering out towards the town down the road. Corporal Johnson heard him speak before his voice came over the comm-link.

"I have tango's insight. At least fifteen of them. Bravo two through twelve, come up here."

Johnson and eleven other soldiers quietly crept over towards Miller's position, surrounding the minivan and taking cover behind other vehicles, weapons trained ahead.

"Take aim and fire. Make every shot count. Aim for the cranium."

Johnson took aim at a scantily clad older woman with his M4A3 and squeezed off a shot, hitting one of the undead in the shoulder. The loud _click!_ of the rifle wasn't loud enough for the creatures to hear them, so the stupefied zombie had no source to be attracted to. The thing just took the shot and looked around with colorless eyes, desperately trying to find what had disturbed it from its useless slumber. The next 5.56mm bullet found its target, a crimson hole blooming across the creature's forehead.

Johnson looked ahead and noticed that all twelve of the soldiers found their targets and downed them without hesitation, and the pathway seemed to be cleared of any threat.

Miller moved his hand forward, and the rest of the squad, approximately 16 men, came running up to regroup.

"Sir, I have a large number of hostilities at our six! We need to get moving because somehow they've caught our scent!" spoke one of the soldiers out of the group. He had a sniper rifle equipped and his battle-hardened face showed no signs of comfort.

"Damn." Replied Captain Miller with a worried look. "Okay, then let's get it movin' faster."

Miller continued his walk forward, a bit faster this time. He was flanked by Johnson to the left, then the rest of the unit quickly followed behind.

They approached the entrance into the city, with the congested traffic growing thicker. Utter chaos was present in every angle of the street. Miller approached a four-way, stopping to take cover behind an overturned Volkswagen. He aimed his weapon out in front of him and paused.

"Sir?" Johnson said in a hushed whisper.

Miller pointed out onto the street, and Johnson's eyes followed his finger.

"Oh… crap…"

30 meters away more of the creatures sounded off with their incessant moaning, as if carrying on a conversation in a language not comprehensible to the human ear. There were at least forty of them, not counting the ones that were further off into the city.

"Sir, we've got to get going! Those things somehow know we're here!" a voice erupted over the communications-link. It was one of the snipers in the rear.

The unmistakable clicking sound of the suppressors could be heard, followed by a shrill voice screaming into the pre-noon sky.

"AAAHHH! GET IT OFF ME, GET **IT OFF!**"

Someone yelled from the rear, and a shotgun rang out into the air, shattering the silence that they'd hope to maintain.

"Sir, they're more than we thought back here. We've got to get it going NOW!"

"Okay, let's move!" Miller said, standing up from his prone position.

By now the undead party of zombies ahead had gotten wind of their position and they were charging their unit like a frenzied person high on some mind-altering substance. Johnson stood up just as the Captain went forth and began to run across the intersection. Several more men did the same, weapons aimed at the nearest threat. They began to sound off with their weapons, which by now had rendered the suppressors useless at this point. Cordite filled the air with a sickingly sweet smell of rotted flesh. Miller tried to lead the pack, but was cut off due to the mass number of infected citizens. They streamed from every imaginable nook and cranny of the street. From under cars, out from under the subway entrances. Several more undead joined the fray by running out from inside the buildings.

Surrounded in every direction, Miller pointed towards an empty alley-way.

"There!" he screamed above the gunfire.

"Help me! Help—**_BOOM!_**"

One man ran for the alley-way as Johnson turned to motion the rest of the unit in their direction. The guy was clothes lined almost instantly, as a result of a zombie lurching out from the shadows of a dumpster.

"ACK! HELP!" screamed the soldier.

Johnson raised his rifle, but to no avail. The soldier was swarmed by the undead, being eaten alive with every passing second. Johnson turned on his heels and ran, not wanting to see anymore of this tragic event. He spotted Miller helping some of his men up onto a balcony, his arm extended out to help them off the ladder.

"Corporal, hurry your ass up! They're right behind you!" screamed Connors from the balcony.

This only made Johnson run faster, feeling as if he was almost weightless. He reached the leader and leaped as high as he could, grabbing the bottom rungs and pulling himself up with an adrenaline-fed fury. A bloated hand scuffed the bottom of his boot and Johnson quick free. Next thing he new he was being pulled up by the Captain, who led them into a fifth-story apartment. Johnson stood there, hands clasped to his knees, sucking in gulps of air as the adrenaline began to fade.

_**BOOM!** _

Connors came into view of the living room, where he surviving unit stood. Grimacing, he spoke; "there was an old lady in the bathroom. Looks like she just joined our friends outside a little under an hour ago. Had to do away with her."

The Captain nodded slowly, obviously in deep thought. Ben Johnson looked at what faces remained. A sniper, Bill Giles, the shotgun artist Joey Connors, and a few unrecognizable faces were also in the crowd, all of whom Johnson didn't know very well. Pvt. 1st class Brandon Cooper walked out from the kitchen back into the living room. Most of everyone at training called him 'Coop', and Johnson had only talked to him a few times.

In all only seven people remained out of the thirty soldiers that were dropped in. Jackson and Hughes was still MIA, unfortunately, and whoever else might've survived outside on the streets would have a tough time on their own. Johnson stared out the window, trying to evaluate their situation.

A moving vehicle suddenly gleamed through the window, its silver paint creating an easily seen distraction amongst the lifeless, still city streets.

"Hey, there's someone done there!" yelled Johnson in exasperation.

Everyone in the room crowded the window trying to catch a look at what alerted one of the soldiers. The silver GMC slammed into several undead LA residents, clearing a temporary path in the somewhat congested intersection. The truck slowed at the entrance of the alley which was on the other end, the area they hadn't gone through. The vehicle continued its rampage as it toppled over a mailbox and onto the sidewalk, doing damage to a shopping cart and running over a few corpses.

"Well, Good luck to them. They'll need it more than us at the moment." Said Miller as he walked back into the room away from the window. He got on the radio, and began to radio in…


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

"We've got to check for survivors." Stated Sergeant Bill Hawkins. "Those are our orders, regardless of you two being AWOL."

Jackson sighed, not wanting to press the matter further. Besides, it made him look unprofessional. He was eager to join his unit, but their recent encounter with the undead had changed his mind about ruffing it alone. Hughes stood beside Jackson, just happy to still be alive.

"Eddy. I just remembered that I dropped my radio back their when they attacked me."

"Yeah, I lost mine when we made the drop." Replied Jackson.

The dark skies began to give why to the rising sun in the east, and storm clouds began to circulate around the area, causing the sunrise to disappear and reappear regularly.

The National Guard unit stood on the edge of the forest, looking into the clearing towards the mahogany-colored cabin. Undoubtedly made for a person with a lot of money, the house seemed to be bigger now that the faint light shone upon it with a ghostly appearance. Jackson stepped into the clearing, following the other soldiers as they approached the house. Sergeant Hawkins began directing orders, examining the house.

"Greg, take ten men with you and go through the back. John, you take five and go around the side."

One guy, obviously Greg, took his men around back. John took his five around the side, through the parking lot and into the garage. Hawkins stepped forward, his men following him.

"You two can tag along with us. Keep your eyes open." He said, turning his head towards the both of them. They replied with a slight nod, their weapons at the ready as they approached the blood-stained, half-opened front door.

Sergeant Hawkins pushed the door completely open with a gloved hand, exposing the foyer inside the house. He stepped forward with caution, his M16 leading the way. The room was filled with a bright, white light, the overhead bulb shining with the capacity that could only be fueled by a generator giving off a soft hum perhaps somewhere under the house. The overall effect was creepy, because the whole building seemed like it was stripped of life.

"Garage, kitchen clear!" a faint voice sounded off somewhere in the house.

The radio clicked; "This John. Generator room clear."

"Roger, bravo team." Replied Hawkins.

Hawkins examined the room. Pure chaos is what he thought. There was an overturned couch; a TV without a stand, projecting static, and a young woman slumped in the far corner, her head staring into her lap with a trail of blood seeping from an orifice on her face, and a man clutching a handgun spread-eagle on the floor near the hallway. He walked towards the darkened hallway and looked down the corridor, where he saw it resting on the wall straight down from his face.

The creature was at least the size of an average man, but stripped of any flesh that was ever on its body. Its skull seemed to have lost its purpose in the creature's transformation, because it didn't have one. In its place was its exposed brain.

"What in God's name…" whispered Hawkins, not believing what was actually there.

The thing didn't look like it had ears, but his whisper was perceived by the creature. It threw its body back accompanied by a loud, unearthly shriek and landed at the end of the hallway.

I_t's a pure incarnate of Hell, because _nothing_ like that exist!_

By now the other soldiers flanked Hawkins in the hallway, alerted by the screeching demon. Whosoever was directly beside the Sergeant raised their weapons simultaneously with his, each cursing their hesitant behavior. Weapons jerked in a rapid fashion, spraying bullets into the hallway and hitting the creature with devastating results. The hallway filled with smoke and consumed the limp figure of the creature, which was left gasping for air. Hawkins walked slowly down the hall, through the smoke and next to most disturbing site he'd wish he hadn't seen.

The creature was breathing hard, it's bony, bloody and exposed ribcage rising and dropping in long increments. The thing seemed to sense his presence, because it began to snap at him with its razor-like teeth, a humanoid face structure yearning in misery.

Hawkins lowered his weapon towards its head and squeezed the trigger, his gun kicking once as the round shattering any remnants of bone and sinew on its head.

Gunfire erupted somewhere on the second story, causing everyone to jerk their heads upward.

"Greg. Major, report!" Hawkins spoke into the comm.

A few seconds went by as more gunfire reverberated through the house, then; "Man down, man down! Holy shit what the fuck were those!"

"Patterson, take Leonard and Brown with you and proved assistance with the Major's group."

Three of the men nodded and ran down the hall, disappearing after a door could be heard opening and closing.

They sat in silence for a second, the hallway filled with equipment-heavy soldiers. Sergeant Hawkins broke the silence by refocusing on the situation at hand and reaching for the door at the end of the hallway. He stepped into another room, large like every other. Another chaotic scene was presented, this one much worse than the last. It seemed to be a lounge area, with overturned, blood-splattered furniture.

Jackson turned his head toward a door that was adjacent from the entrance and saw it move a bit.

"There's something in there." Whispered Jackson to Hawkins.

The Sergeant nodded and grasped the door with his hand, nodding. An unfamiliar soldier ran towards the door, holding his weapon out with both hands. Hawkins swung the door open just as a muzzle flash lit up the closet. The soldier standing in front of the door took the heavy, hollow-pointed bullet in the chest, recoiling from the shot, face twisted into a scowl, then slumping into a heap on the floor.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME! STAY AWAY FROM—"

**_Ratatatatatatatatatat!_**

Sergeant Hawkins M16 blared out the noise of the man's scream, who convulsed violently; the 7.75mm bullet's tearing through his white lab coat and the live tissue and organs. He fell back against the wall of the closet, has hands closed around a large revolver that smoked from the tip of the barrel.

"Fuck!" Hawkins screamed, running over to the downed soldier. "Who in the hell was that!"

The man was already dead before he hit the ground, and his mouth was leaking large amounts of blood. Hawkins tore off his dog tags and stuffed them into his pocket and closed the man's eyes, laying him down on the floor softly.

He stood up and examined the room he was in. There was a bar at the far end and next to it an elevator door stood somewhat uninviting, the doors smeared with the popular look of crimson that seemed to be everywhere these days. Hawkins walked through the two sets of bullet-laden pillars, towards the elevator door. He began to touch the door-open button when a voice stopped him;

"Sir, I would not open that door if I were you!"

A chubby, middle-aged man sporting a lab coat and name tag with an approached from the entrance of the room, flanked by Greg's group of men who seem to have recovered the survivor upstairs.

"You do not want to open that door. Because there are more of them down there. More zombies and lickers. It's horrible!" he yelled the last word, shuttering with a look of pure agony and sorrow that bloomed across his face.

"Who is this?" asked Hawkins.

One of the soldier's began to speak, but the scientist interrupted him;

"Al Jenkins, Research and Development." He put out his hand to shake, but Hawkins gripped his weapon with intent.

Sweat grew across Al's brow, causing his pudgy features to look more piggish.

"They overtook our labs below and then—"

"Wait a minute. I wasn't aware of any U.S. army laboratories within the area—"

"We're not Army. Umbrella, as a matter of fact." Al said that punctually, as if stating his lifetime accomplishment.

"Now we must get out of here before they breach the surface further more!" the scientist looked around the room nervously, his eyes coming to rest on the elevator doors.

Hawkins stared at the elevator for a moment, aware that the uneasy scientist was deathly afraid of whatever hell-spawned demons roamed around down there.

"Brown, go get John out of the generator room and bring him here."

Jackson noticed that Hawkins grew uneasy himself, pacing over toward the window and peeking between the boards.

"Ah hell." He breathed, eyes staring into the yard.

Jackson approached the window, looking through the cracks.

At least forty zombies ambled out into the clearing, attracted by the gunfire. It wasn't much of a surprise either, because the suburbs lay not but a quarter of a mile in LA's direction.

"Lock 'n load boys, I think we're in for a fight."

**Chapter six **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

Steve stared at the fuel gauge and watched the needle slowly move half a centimeter towards empty. He estimated that they had just enough gas to make it halfway through the city, if that. Looking over towards his companion and saw the small glimmer of hope sparkle in her eyes.

_I've got to make it, she's depending on me._

They took a back road to avoid the congested highway, and it seemed every other citizen of LA had the same idea. The road was clogged with an assortment of cars and trucks, but the shoulder and median seemed to catch his eye almost instantly, as if it was designated for him. Steve turned the wheel slightly and headed for the shoulder, steering clear of the road debris that tried to obstruct his path.

"Almost there. You ready?"

Aya nodded and looked back towards the road.

"Yeah, guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be…"

Steve's dark-blue hues scanned the edge of the roadway as one of the undead creatures flooded into view. The distinctive _thud!_ could be heard as the truck's grill slammed into the zombie's body. Steve slammed on the brake as both of their bodies jerked forward, then coming to a rest.

"Damn! Those things are everywhere!" exclaimed Steve.

Indeed he was right. That had to be the millionth zombie they'd passed since setting out on their journey. As the truck's engine started to reverberate a rocking noise under the hood, the road became filled with more of the undead, who were trying to find the nearest source of food.

"We need to get going… now." Stated Aya.

Steve pressed the gas a bit, lurching the truck forward slowly. He parted his way through the crowd that had by now overcome the truck on every side. They tried unsuccessfully to pry open the doors and the outer shell of the vehicle. Aya stared at the faces of the creatures, and the zombies looked back with blank, emotionless stares. She scowled a bit covering her nose.

"Just to think, these things use to be ordinary, everyday people. Consider how fortunate we are… especially to not have that perfume!"

Steve couldn't help but laugh. The remark was a good ice-breaker to somewhat emotional scene. He hit the gas more, violently plowing through the crowd now. He looked at Aya and examined her features. She was a dark blonde girl about 5'7" at the most, guessing her age was around sixteen or seventeen. With those soft green eyes, she looked at him, meeting his gaze. Her slightly freckly face managed to put up a smile, and Steve smiled back. He was beginning to have a liking for the girl, her will to live strongly present in these circumstances, and he couldn't have a better companion.

They came into the outer part of the city, buildings and more vehicles coming into the scene, and of course, more zombies.

"Do you hear that noise?" questioned Aya abruptly, trying to perceive the loud clatter of gunfire that sounded as if it was close.

Steve could hear the noise better now, excitement growing within him. He was eager to meet other survivors and hear their stories, but moreover, he was eager to find someone with firepower because they had none. They tried to follow the epicenter of the gunfire, but to no avail. It stopped, just as soon as it was heard.

"Where'd they go, where… ?" Steve tried to finish, but caught glimpse of several people running for an alley.

"There!" yelled Aya, pointing towards the alley.

Steve pressed on the gas, towards the alley, but instead he ran into a shopping cart and took out a mail box. The road was pretty much blocked, so he took advantage of the sidewalk. By now he was at the base of the apartment building, but the sidewalk had every imaginable obstruction in the way. The truck passed the alley, where Steve last saw the small group, but they weren't in sight.

_Damn, the motor is giving out!_

Slowly the motor began to smoke and then it all together just gave out, a loud croak coming from the smashed radiator. The power steering gave out with the engine so Steve slowly steered the truck to rest right next to a window that led into the apartment building with. He was a good sized man, but sometimes he would exaggerate his height out to 6'1", when he was really an inch shorter. He was at least forty five meters from the closest carrier so he rolled his window down and kicked out the apartment window as several of the zombies started flocking in on their stranded vehicle.

"Let's go, hurry!" Steve shouted as he carried himself through the window and reached back for Aya, who in turned grabbed his hand with a sudden quickness.

He pulled her through the window into a office room, which was flooded with thick bright loud that poured through the window. The air conditioning hadn't been running for a while, so the stale air wasn't a comfortable feeling to be breathing, especially since they were in the given situation.

"We've got to find those soldiers! Follow me I think they're at least on the second story…" Steve said, talking while they hustled cautiously through the office room and out into a reception area.

The place was rather big and Aya spotted the door on the other end. They quickly paced their way through the receptionists room, taking in small breaths of the stagnant, rotten air. Steve's attention was averted towards the stench, actually smelling the creatures before seeing them.

"Uhmm Aya. Run." Steve spoke, but she was already one step ahead.

He had to follow after her, her swift figure darting in between the desk. This actually surprised him a bit, because he was pretty fast himself. They reached the door and came into a hallway, marked with doors that had numbers, declaring those rooms apartments. They both glanced towards the door with the stairwell sign and hurried for the door, hearing the incomprehensible gurgle of the zombies not too far behind. They jerked the door open and they both ran up the steps towards the second floor, then the third. Soon they were on the fourth, adrenaline taking them higher and higher.

They neared the fifth floor when the door swung open—and a soldier stood in the doorway, a look of surprise growing across his face as he had his gun pointed in their direction.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" screamed Aya and Steve, simultaneously.

"Oh shit!" the soldier yelled, lowering his weapon quick. "Get up here, quick!"

Steve saw the man sense the presence of the zombies in pursuit of their prey, as did Aya, who was already in the door and running down the hall. Steve followed quickly in her wake as the soldier stayed behind in the doorway with his gun trained, and a second soldier ran past the two-man party of Aya and Steve, who shouted "room seventy-seven!" Gunfire ensued as they ran off down the hall and into a room, opening the door.

They dropped down with their hands on their knees, glimpsing in at the worried party of soldiers who looked just as surprised, concern growing across their faces.

Sorry I know it's like 28 Days Later but I'll make the further events different in upcoming chapters!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

Ben shifted his golden-brown gaze towards the end of the street, watching the truck coast to a smoking stop, the bed of the truck the only visible piece of metal.

"Hey-hey Captain! Look!"

Miller glanced over towards him, aware of something at this point. He dropped the communications-link for the moment and issued forth over towards the window. They both stared, trying to process what was going on. Several undead creatures bounded onto the stranded vehicles position, partially obscuring it from view.

"Ben, get to the stairwell. Check to see if they've made it inside!" said Miller.

By this point, the remaining team had became closer, getting to know each other more. Ben Johnson had learned that Jack Miller was once an Umbrella employee, though his specific occupation wasn't discussed on his strict terms. Ben also learned a great deal about his remaining teammates. Brandon Cooper, or 'Coop' was fresh out of high school, only 2 years younger than Ben, 19, not even learned through basic training. Given equipment and a weapon at the last possible moment. Shows a great deal how desperate the U.S. was in trying to contain and find personnel for the disaster. Joey Connor's was an Army Ranger with a invaluable field-combat experience, which was vital to survival situations like this. The sniper, Bill, was a married man with three kids back at his house. He was always voicing his concern about his kids. The last two guys, Dan Eckhart and Jesse Valdez, were regular, blue-collar men just like everyone else, who both maintained desk-jobs in the National Guard on weekdays.

All in all, they grew comfortable with calling themselves by their first names. Captain Miller thought it would ease the stress of the situation a bit since the mission was seriously screwed up now. Ben didn't think it would matter, because he knew that their morale was low to begin with, and that anyone, including himself, could be killed at any given moment. In an odd way, he felt comfort in that, knowing death was the only thing that would come of his demise.

Ben ran out the hallway, to where the body of a young boy sat perched against the wall. Bill put a bullet in his head five minutes ago, tears welling up soon thereafter. He took a left at the three-way hall intersection, and continued his sprint. He reached the stairwell door with a violent shove of his weapon. That's when he saw the two survivors, surprised just as he, his gun aimed towards the nearest.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" yelled the kid and the girl simultaneously

"Oh shit!" yelled Ben, eyes growing wide. "Get up here, quick!"

They ran past him, the putrid smell of rotten flesh quickly following their scent. Ben walked out from the doorway and to the top of the 5th floor stairway entrance, his M4 aimed down the stairs. Cooper shuffled out the door right when the first signs of decayed scalp came into view. Ben already had his weapon aimed, locked and loaded. His M4 started to quick violently, bullet casings littering the floor and shattering the silence of the dead apartment. Several more of the creatures crowded the stairway, frenzied with the look of deathly determination glimmering in their once meaningful, hopeful eyes. Cooper, hesitant at first, slowly started firing his M4 in three-round bursts, his bullets hitting the undead and ricocheting off of walls.

Bill ran through the door next and realized the seriousness of the pursuit, popping off a few shots with his 9mm, then finally lobbing a grenade down onto the 3rd floor panel, followed by a "Fire in the hole!"

All three soldiers ran into the hallway of the 5th floor before the loud blast rattled the building, shutting and barring the door behind them. Ben and Coop started to push a couch in front of the door, which now stood ajar, slightly cocked due to the shrapnel from the blast, when Miller came running down the hall.

"Are you guys OK?" he presumed to ask, his weapon ready in his hand.

"We're good. Threw a grenade down to stall 'em. Door's not gonna last forever, Jack. We've got to get moving. Now." Answered Bill, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Did you see how many of them were there!" stated Coop, obviously still getting through his adrenaline rush. "That was insane!"

Ben interrupted Coop before he was finished, looking towards the Captain. "There are two other survivors. Did you get them?"

Miller nodded, waving his hand in his direction, motioning them to follow.

They walked into the apartment room number seventy-seven, the survivors surrounded by the rest of the team, who was questioning them about their survival. The male survivor looked at Ben with a familiar, friendly look. Ben didn't register who he was at first, but that all-knowing stare of the survivor reassured him who he was.

"Ben?" asked the survivor, shrugging off the questions of everyone else.

Ben's eyes grew even wider, his emotion for the man's survival growing happier.

"Steve!" said Ben, slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

The rest of the group eyed the two, aware of the friendship that the soldier and the male survivor possessed.

"Man, you were the last person I'd expect to see!" said Ben, his face filling with the color of his tan, noting that this was the first sign of post-traumatic stress.

Indeed they did know each other. Ben had attended the same school as Steve, although he was a few years older. Ben was a senior when Steve was a freshman, and the only way they knew each other was from the relationship their parents held. They had became good friends over the years, but their friendship was questioned when Ben was sent off to basic. Off to pursue an honest life and job, the American dream. Their meeting couldn't be anymore sweeter, due to circumstantial evidence.

"Okay people, we need to figure out how we're getting out of here." Said Miller, bringing them back to reality. "I've recognized in one of the rooms that there's a balcony leading into another building, and we need to get there."

Just then the soldiers' radio's spouted to life with transmission, an unknown voice talking from the other end.

"Delta four, come in Delta 4. What is your current situation? Over."

Miller narrowed his gaze, trying to concentrate on the radio.

"This is Delta 4, radio. We are surrounded by hostilities and minus twenty-one. We need immediate evac, over."

"Negative Delta 4, your mission remains the same. Rendezvous with Alpha 6 in the district 34. Destination Gamma-Romeo-Omega."

"I can't do that! Did you not hear me! I've lost more than half my men!"

Miller was answered with static, following a click that issued from the other end. The radio operator on the other end cut them off.

"What the hell… As of now, our mission is survival. We will head for the blockade in the district 34, however, the location of the city officials is a miss."

Down the hall, a loud bang sounded out, following a loud yell.

"They're here. Captain, we gotta go!"

Captain Miller walked towards the door. He looked out of the peep-hole and saw the ingrown hair of one of the undead, drunken with the spell of zombification. He knew that their escape would be more difficult than he thought. Miller looked around the room towards his men and the two survivors.

"You two," he motioned towards the survivors, Aya and Steve. "Follow closely behind. Ready?"

The group nodded, their heads bobbing up and down out of rhythm. Miller pulled a grenade off of his harness and pulled the pin. He cracked the door and lightly tossed the grenade down the hall. As he went to shut the door, an arm was shoved through the crack. The decay of flesh left a smudgy impression on the burgundy wall, adding to the color of the wallpaper. Miller fought to close it, the door's edge sinking into the flesh of the undead human and cracking the bone.

**_BOOM!_**

The grenade sounded off, shaking the 5th floor with minor damage. The arm fell limp onto the ground, no animation coming from the amputated limb. Jack Miller threw the door open and ran out into the hall, flanked by Bill and Connors, their weapons trained in both directions of the hall. The corpses closest to the blast laid on the ground in an unrecognizable mass. The ones not in the immediate area began to stand up, shaking themselves free of the resulting stun. They began to move towards the end of the hall, Dan leading the way with Miller and Cooper covering the rear. The rest of the party was in between, Johnson directly behind Jesse who in turn was behind Dan.

**_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_**

****Connors' shotgun sounded off, his weapon being the most effective in the small spaces. Dan increased his speed to a lengthy jog, nearing the window that had a balcony adjacent from it, connecting the building to another.

_Crash!_

Room door number eighty-two burst open with the sickly smell of decay, quickly in par with an undead couple who shuffled out of the door and onto Dan and Jesse.

"Oh my god!"

Johnson raised his rifle and shot at the beings, trying to free his two comrades of their assailants. Dan kicked the man off of him, who recoiled from Ben's bullets with a violent jerk. Jesse lay on the ground, screaming until his vocal chords were no more. The creature on top of him ignored the bullets and continued biting into his neck with devastating results. It wasn't until Ben to kick the middle-aged woman in the head did she fall off, rolling towards Dan, who in turn caught her with his boot and ejected a bullet into her forehead.

The party ran towards the window, finally reaching it at the cost of one man. Ben's heart raced quickly, pushing Steve and Aya through the window. Miller reached the window sill when he yelled for him to go through. Ben came out onto a balcony with a metal walkway that ran onto the roof of another building with everyone else, the opposite building being no more than five stories high. The group ran across it, reaching the roof of the adjacent building and looking back at their pursuers. A hundred zombies seemed to be spilling out onto the balcony, and the sight was almost of laughter. The undead crowded themselves so mindlessly onto the balcony that some of them began to fall of the side and onto the ground.

Bill held his arm, which leaked a dark crimson fluid, and Ben already new it was too late. Doing some quick thinking, Ben reached for his harness and took out a grenade. He threw it onto the walkway 15 feet across and ducked, followed by the same motion as everyone else. The grenade went off with successful results. The walkway was rendered useless as the smoldering metal fell onto the street below, smashing a bright red sports car and a white limousine.

The remaining survivors stood on the rooftop, paying their last respects to the soldier that didn't escape…


	8. Chapter 8

Sergeant Hawkins looked out of the window again, watching the slow advance of zombies. The surviving scientist, Al, cowered over towards the wall, a small squeal of horror coming from his frigid figure.

"You!" Shouted Bill from across the room. "You stay better stay out of the way!"

The scientist winced as Bill yelled at him, the words striking him like a hot chain. Bill turned and looked out from the window, his hand propped up to the boards. He knew the man would cowar without being told to get out of the area.

"Greg, get your men, round up John from out of the generator room and take them to the garage; keep it secure!"

The creatures lurched out into the open, mouths agape as their soulless appearance became visible in the pale, dimly lit sky. Their colors were stained and gleaming as they moved towards the house with rotten open arms. A soft thud resonated through the hallway; gunfire sounded off in the entrance area, followed by a loud _slam!_ of the front door.

Greg had past through there, clearing the room of the first threat that breeched the house. Chatter over the radio could be heard confirming this. John had been contacted before-hand and was already securing the garage door, more faint gunfire echoing through the large house coming from John, who spoke through the comm. System.

"Holy crap, there're like fifty of them coming out from the – I can see the suburban street on the other end of the forest, about 80 meters away! Sarge, if it gets too risky we can dash through the suburbs towards Blockade D, on 77th Avenue!" John had spoke with a short, mechanical _click!_ coming after his words.

"Roger that! Hold your position until hostility action settles down!"

A loud _bam!_ thudded on the front door as the decayed hands of the destroyer approached Hawkins' unit, and he thought of an apocalyptical vision that conjured within his head. He cocked his gun and kicked out a board from the window to which he could fit his rifle muzzle through. He took aim into the crowd as more guns began to aim out.

Jackson gripped his rifle tightly, teeth clenching, hearing the first sounds of automatic rifle fire sound off all around him. A sight to behold, but a sight that would undoubtedly be burned into his cranium for a very long time.

The elevator doors flung open with a soft _ding!_ after following a low hum that resonated through the room. Jackson craned his neck towards the elevator, eyes growing wide in horror. He began to yell, but his voice was lost in the commotion of the general uproar. He swung his rifle around and squeezed the trigger as several undead creatures flooded into the lounge room. Bullets tore through clothing, lab coats, and guard uniforms, taking out some of the soft flesh that deteriorated over time.

Some of the soldiers glanced over once, then did a double take as they turned towards the oncoming threat. By now, the zombies from the elevator had come full force into a barrage of semi-automatic gunfire. Smoke filled the room, along with that sickly sweet smell of cordite. Most of the gunfire by then had been concentrated on the nearest threat, that being the elevator that had ascended onto their level. This had caused an advance in the small undead army, and they began to tear at the hard oak and exterior of the house. The radio clicked once, followed by screaming.

"Sarge, they've breached the house! We've got to go they're everywhere.. !"

"Damnit!"

Just then the hallway filled with shadows… then the shadows took the form of solid bodies, slowly followed by that unearthly stench. They had knocked down the front door, one of the only barriers between the living and the dead.

The group of soldiers began to back up towards the elevator, which dripped of blood and was littered by bodies. The line of fire was concentrated away from the window and towards the entrance of the room.

It seems that for every downed zombie, two would take its place, eagerly rushing forward into the room in a chance to taste living flesh once again.

"In the elevator – now!" yelled Sergeant Hawkins.

Jackson backed up, tripping over bodies as he stumbled towards the elevator, his rifle kicking with each trigger squeeze. Somewhere, somewhere in the house Hughes was with the other group who were now cut off from them.

"Sir, we're making a run for the suburbs now. I'll send help for you when we get there! They're all behind us; hundreds of 'em! Be careful!" breathed John as he took pauses in between breathes, telling Hawkins that he was in the process of running for his life.

He knew the rest of his men, including the other AWOL soldier, Mike Hughes, was in a desperate situation, and there situation wasn't looking so hot either.

Jackson pulled a grenade of his harness and chucked it towards the far side of the room, connecting with the collapsing skull of a pale teenager. He began the count down in his head.

_Four, three, two…_

The rest of the men backed into the elevator as the room took on an overwhelming stench, hundreds of the creatures dashing for their position. Someone raised their rifle and squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, the automatic feature spraying bullets into the oncoming crowd, but to little avail. A split second later the grenade went off, dousing the crowd with debris and smoke. That's when the blood-smeared elevator doors came to a close, postponing the soldiers'

inevitable death.

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief, as did most of the others. The elevator began to descend into an unknown darkness, taking them not two, or three stories beneath the surface, but down into the bowls of hell, or so it seemed. Reloading took place in the elevator as the men began to talk amongst themselves, trying to see if anyone was hurt or out of ammo. Sergeant Hawkins pressed the button and began to speak into his communications set.

"John, you there?"

Silence. Static. A small click somewhere from the other end, and then; "Any… anyone there?"

The voice was loud and audible over the radio. Jackson recognized it as Hughes. He began to speak, to ask him what the hell had happened to him, but Hawkins beat him to it.

"Identify yourself."

"It's Hughes… Mike Hughes… Damn, they're everywhere! Gimme another clip, I'm almost out…"

Mike had lowered his voice down to a small whisper, as if he was hiding somewhere.

"Mike, what is the current status of the squad? Where's John?" asked Hawkins.

"John? Oh, the Hawaiian guy…" Mike went silent for a second. "He… He didn't make it."

Sergeant Hawkins closed his eyes and clenched his fist. Several other soldiers began to look distraught as well. This was a tight-knit unit, and everyone seemed to know each other in some form or another.

Mike continued; "We're in some house – I don't know where. We ran into the neighborhoods and then they just started pouring out of the houses. I think they were waiting for someone to come through Sarge…"

"Who's all with you? Anyone high enough in rank to take the lead?"

Mike sat in silence for a moment, words being exchange between people on the other end.

"There's nine of us. We lost half of the men on the way over here. It was horrible, sir! To tell you the truth, I

outrank every one of these men."

Hawkins tilted his head back, the sweat rolling off the side of his dark-complected skin. He was a large black man, his arms being about the size of Jackson's head, Jackson thought. He was also an extraordinary leader, and his efforts thus far had kept their casualties to a minimum.

"Okay son, listen," Hawkins voice was stern over the radio. "You're going to have to lead those men out of there to Blockade D on 77th Avenue. Can you do it."

A small pause once again, and then; "Yes… Yessir, I'm up for the challenge. I… I won't let you guys down."

"Good. Stay in touch. We've had to retreat into the elevator for now. Over and out."

The radio clicked. The elevator display read "Research & Development", the elevator coming to a rest.

_Great, now we're in Umbrella's sanctuary, facing their demons _thought Jackson as he reloaded his rifle.

He checked the clip on his Smith & Wesson, making sure the ammo was full, locked and loaded.

"Research & Development. That's my department!" yelled Al, the Umbrella scientist.

He said it with a kind of excitement at first, but horror spread across his face thereafter.

"Oh god… Oh god no! Take me up! Take me – "

_Slam!_

Someone had hit Al Jenkins upside the head with the butt of their rifle, causing him to fall down. A few moments later, he issued to his feet, glasses askew and a puzzled look of disorientation playing across his features. He kept his mouth shut tight, his eyes beginning to water. He seemed to eye the red, florescent letters that stood up above the doors, nervously shifting his posture as his glance shot back and forth between the lettering and the man who hit him.

Elevator doors opened into blackness, bathing a small portion of the room with soft light. Soldiers peered into the darkness, Hawkins engaging his flashlight on his M4. The flashlight shot a beam into the room onto the soft, red slimy flesh of a creature that jumped into the air with razor-sharp talons. A loud screech rang out as saliva and blood dripped in the creatures wake. The reaction speed the licker had was astounding. Jackson's heart jumped a beat as he began to raise his rifles, as did everyone else.

_Ratatatatat-atatatat!_

Automatic gunfire erupted along the elevator as flashes danced across the walls of the room. Bullets ripped into manlike flesh, severing the creature in several places.

_Raaar!_

The creature fell in mid-air, taking the barrage like a champ. It quivered and shook as it lay on the ground still taking in 7.56mm bullets. Shaking, the licker convulsed violently on the ground in a pull of blood, its screech slowly dying down to a low wheeze; then nothing more.

"Holy fuck!" breathed someone.

They stepped out into the room, flashlights beaming to life. Light poured over every part of the room, the men searching for any hostilities. That's when the loud screeching shot out from a ventilation shaft.

Private Daws had no time to act. A ventilation cover blew off its hinges from the ceiling, slamming into the guy as he fell to the floor, his rifle flying five feet away from him.

"Oh my godAHHHHHHHHH!"

The thing landed onto his mid-riff before anyone could act, its tongue shooting out from its mandibles and wrapping around the mans neck.

_Sluuuurp – SNAP!_

The licker reacted with lightning-like reflexes, the quick figure of the red flesh being a blur as it worked its devilish magic. The tongue had wrapped around the guys neck and tightened quickly, followed by a jerking motion as the things mouth closed around its tongue. The resulting motion had ripped the Private's head off his shoulders, blood pouring out of where his head should've been. Rifles were raised simultaneously as triggers were squeezed at the same instant, causing another loud ass crackle of gunfire. The creature rocked, convulsed, and then fell onto its side, tongue hanging out as it gaped for air, riddled with bullet holes in every orifice on its body.

"FUCK!"

That seemed to be the word out of everyone's mouth as they surrounded the man's corpse. Jackson stood there with a look of disbelief on his face. _Did I really just see that? _Jackson clinched his rifle, the scene replaying itself in his head over and over. Something deep down inside seemed to be bending; breaking. The human mind bends and twist to deal with the horrors of reality… but sometimes, when it bends too much, it just snaps.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mike Hughes peered out from the edge of the window sill, taking a long gaze out onto the crowded suburban street. There were at least a dozen hundred of them, ambling their way through the street in an effort to consolidate their hunger. He checked the clip in his M4, taking note that it was half empty. The rest of the men, eight in all including him, shifted nervously within their equipment. Hughes was trying to decipher the situation within his mind, thinking about the best possible solution for dealing with their dilemma.

"Okay guys," he said in a low whisper. "It doesn't look good, but we're going to have to take what the situation gives us."

He looked around the room. One of the smaller ones inside the house, obviously a child's room due to the many toys and trinkets that were scattered all over the floor. The power seemed to be out, and the only source of light was flooding through the blinds of the window. He replayed their frightening ordeal before they reached the house in his head over and over, still hearing the screams and pleas from the other soldiers.

They had stationed themselves within the garage, a rather large one at that. John had closed the garage door before any had reached it. The eighteen or so manned-squad didn't realize how much contagion Sergeant Hawkins was dealing with out front, so their plight caught them way off guard. One of the men had strayed away from the crowd of soldiers, checking the rest of the garage for any peripheral that might possibly aide them in any way. He so happened to step under the attic door, which was cracked open from earlier entry.

Without any warning, a large, long tendril had shot out from the attic door, wrapping itself around the man's neck. It was only a few seconds later that someone had noticed, because the creature, licker's as Al had assessed, was successful in keeping itself quiet until it had its prey within its grasp. The long tongue had lifted the soldier a few feet off the ground, making it look as if it was pulling its victim into the darkness of the attic.

Mike remembers the terrified, death-ridden look of the soldier as the tongue squeezed tighter, and with a simple flick of the long tongue, it had severed the man's head from his shoulders before anyone had time to react. Guns were then raised in the direction of the attic, hesitation losing this bout, as they fired stubbornly towards the attack door. After a few seconds the gunfire stopped, and the attic door hung there slightly off its hinges, slightly in place still. That's when the wooden framework of the ladder-door erupted in a splinter of wood chucks, falling harshly to the ground with a loud clatter. Red, gleaming flesh crawled out from the hole with surprisingly quick speed.

Rifle fire from the soldier's gun had rendered their hearing to a temporary deafness, and this contributed to the fact that they hadn't heard the undead walk into the garage.

One of the soldier's closest to the door had been snatched from behind and had his aorta torn in one swift bite. His screams had alerted the rest of the squad, who in turn jerked their heads in the direction of the scream. That's when everything turned to chaos. Licker's were pouring out of the dark sanctuary of the attic, no doubt their nesting grounds in the house, and the undead charged in with blitzkrieg-like behavior.

John turned on his heel, yelling behind him "Follow me, quickly!"

Everyone turned and followed in his wake very closely, afraid of the tormenting death that they left behind in their sprint. John hit the side door to the garage running, the hard wooden oak slamming into the soft flesh of one dead individual, knocking him harmlessly down to the ground. The unit hit the open ground running, the early morning light penetrating their unadjusted eyes. All around them in the clearing, the creatures looked at them with a dull expression of surprise, and they began to run after easier game.

John ran with rifle in hand, taking a quick flick of his arm to click the communications link.

"Sir, we're making a run for the suburbs now. I'll send help for you when we get there! They're all behind us; hundreds of 'em! Be careful!"

Hughes heard the voices echo in his head, the loud clatter of gunfire leaking through the sound system when the Sergeant spoke.

Scattered gunfire issued from the disbanded unit, each man out for himself now. That is, except Hughes, who followed half the group – about eight men – towards the suburban neighborhood. Hughes turned his head as he ran, taking in large gulpes of air, his heart beating at a quickening pace.

"JOOHHNN!"

John and the other half of the group ran into the street before they could, their guns blazing as they met eye-to-eye into an unexpected crowd. They were caught off-guard once again, and already, Mike knew it was too late to try and do anything. Hundreds had surrounded John and the rest of the squad, their guns kicking to life with the automatic rifle fire.

Mike had stopped, his eyes fixated on the group that was being overtaken. He was unaware of his own dangers at the moment, but he raised his rifle anyway, in an attempt to help John – in any way possible. He began to squeeze the trigger when a hand landed on his right shoulder and squeezed. This made him jump and turn his gun in the snatcher's direction.

"WHOA WHOA! It's me, don't shoot, don't shoot!" yelled the soldier.

It was Patterson, whose blonde features looked just as frightened. He wasn't much older than Hughes, and wasn't more in rank than him either. He quickly snapped back to reality as the zombies honed in on their position.

"Let's go, hurry!"

Patterson half-dragged Mike as he began to run alongside with him for an empty part of the neighborhood. Adrenaline had fed him up to this point, but his supply was beginning to run low. They caught up with the rest of the squad, who rushed in the front door of a house, the closest place for refuge.

Mike was the last one through the door. He turned around and shut it abruptly behind him, locking the standard and dead-bolt lock. Flashlights were turned on in an attempt to bring light to the darkened environment, and the living room was bare an empty, free of any wandering souls. The living room looked like a regular living room; couch against one side of the wall, love-seat adjacent from it, and in the middle a coffee table. A plasma TV stood on the wall across from the couch, and the living room opened into the kitchen, and adjacent from the kitchen entrance was a hallway.

The men gathered around, breathing heavily and trying to catch their breath. Someone spoke. It was Leonard.

"Th… the major didn't make it…"

Mike nodded, closing his eyes as he paid his respects to the man. That's when the radio came to life with Sergeant Hawkins' thick voice.

_And now_, as Mike thought, _here we are_.

Brought back to the grim reality that was his life, Mike said a silent prayer in his head, to hopefully lift them of their burden. They were now in the living room once again, planning their next move.

Brown walked forward towards Mike, keeping his voice low as if he didn't want to be heard by any other creature.

"I've thought out a plan," he began to say. "The backyard – it's a straight shot from here. We hop fences and them _bam!_ 77th Avenue, hello there!"

Mike contemplated this, going over the plans within his head as Brown finished his sentence.

"Good thinking, but how do we know those things haven't already beat us to the blockade?"

Brown looked at him then looked away, sighing.

"Well, I haven't really thought about that, but it's our only chance. We've got to get help for the Sarge. They were cornered into the laboratories, and that's never good."

"Yeah, I agree, but I don't know how far away we are… any idea?"

Brown thought for a second, then walked over to the blinds and looked out. He sat there for a second before pulling back, letting the blinds shut themselves.

"We're on 71st Avenue… 77th is _that_ way… Hmmm.. We've got about six blocks to go. I say we stick to alley-ways and backyards, we'll cut our time in half that way."

Mike put a hand on the Brown's shoulder. He was of average build, about six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes and a face full of kindness that could be seen working in a rest home. He was actually younger than Mike, and his rank was right below him.

"Good thinking, buddy."

Mike sat down on the couch, the rest of the squad surrounding him in an effort to hear the next move.

"Okay guys, we've got six blocks to go. We'll stick to the alley's and the backyards. Keep a single-file line and whisper over the comm. if you see anything at all. Keep it tight, keep it silent. Don't shoot unless you have to. I don't want to alert any unwanted attention."

Mike was surprised with himself. He had been considered a team leader back in his High School days. The days of varsity athletics, his preference being football. He knew how to deal with the emotions and behavior of people. If anyone did in the room, it was him.

"Take a minute to do an equipment check and make sure everything is running according to the instructions manual." He said, before walking out of the room.

That brought a chuckle from some of the group. Most of the men were recent graduate's of surrounding schools, so their bond would be that much more tight-knit. Mike took the time to relieve himself, heading towards the houses only bathroom. He entered the room to an unearthly stench. Looking towards the bath-tub he saw the lone figure of a child, long since been dead. Mike shut the curtains and shook his head.

_Children shouldn't have to deal with this._

He turned on his flashlight and looked into the mirror, examining his own features. He took off his helmet, revealing sandy-blonde hair that was in a ruffle. Hazel-green eyes restless with the look of determination. His 5'11" frame took up most of the mirror frame, his stout figure rising and sinking with his increment of breathing. He splashed water on his face and turned back to the situation at hand.

He walked into the living room, which was closer to one of the most normal scenes he'd seen in a very long time, minus the semiautomatic rifles. Some of the soldier's were talking, joking amongst each other, as if the world hadn't stopped turning. When Mike walked into the room, the mood turned to all-business, the soldiers awaiting his next command.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"We've lost way too many men," stated Miller. "Brandon, get on the radio and call for help, we need immediate evac. Now."

His cry for help was answered by an inaudible gurgle over the static across the communications device.

"It's down sir," replied Cooper. "I'm gettin' nothin'… "

Miller's face contorted a bit, different possibilities and scenario's cascading in and out of his head.

"Y'know why, right?" interrupted Bill. "Because the whole damned base is crawling with the dead!"

"Wire could be down… " Said Ben.

"No fuckin' way! The connection's encrypted!" exclaimed Connors. "They said it themselves that it wouldn't be down."

Miller thought to himself. He knew Ben couldn't be serious. His reply was merely a statement that was based only on hope. A hope that their HQ was still up and running. But somehow Miller doubted that by now. Their last transmission was a brief conversation which was cut short due to power failure. Their main head quarters were located somewhere in Berkeley, and the last report was that the city was barely being contained by the viral outbreak. Seventeen hours had passed since they landed in the city, and the giant plumes of smoke around the urban jungle created a sense of despair; a feeling as if you were stuck in a sort of Hell with every demon bearing down upon your position. Only now would the wings of an angelic figure take them away to a safer solitude; preferably a helicopter.

"Well, it is. Somehow." Answered Ben.

"Everyone; spread out and look for an entry." Commanded Miller.

Ben began to walk, looking around the rooftop for a possible means of entrance into the building that they had trotted upon. He saw a ventilation shaft that was their current means of entrance. Ben walked over to the shaft, followed closely by Steve and Aya. The rest of the squad had took it upon their selves to survey the surroundings, going to different parts of the roof and peering out over the edges.

"What kind of building do you think this is?" inquired Steve.

"Hmm, I'm not sure… " Answered Ben.

Just then Steve spotted a heliport on the far end of the building, opposite to where they were standing at.

"Wait a minute – could this be the hospital? I think it is."

Ben averted his eyes towards the source of their suspicion. Indeed it was the Hospital. The building itself spanned across a city block, with the emergency room and parking garage on the other side of the heliport, overlooking the court yard and recreation area. The place had to be teeming with undead life, if you could even phrase it that way. A large column of smoke rose up from one side of the building, on the opposite side of the heli-pad. A fire undoubtedly had to be spreading through out the building, taking note that the group had to be quick in their efforts to escape. But that would seem utterly impossible, since they were in the hospital, and every citizen of LA would've rushed to the hospital in hopes of containing their infections.

Looking over the ledge of the rooftop, Steve saw the employee parking lot, and the placed looked somewhat normal; cars aligned in their proper spaces, parking lot free of any wandering trash. Save for a few corpses lying here and there.

"Look, we can gain access to the sewers from down there." Steve pointed.

In the midst of the cars in the parking lot, there was a manhole, slightly ajar from its hinges. If they were to gain entry into the sewers, they would bypass any obstacles in their way, inanimate or not. This, of course, would involve them going through the hospital; something Steve and Ben weren't willingly ready to do. Regardless of how they felt, they had to think of the survivors that could be trapped inside the confines of the building, praying for some form of help.

"Well, if we're going to go, we better go now." Stated Aya.

Ben walked to the other side of the building, looking back out onto the street. A moving sea of people seemed to pound against the building in panic. The smell too, was overwhelming. The pales hands of the creatures embraced the air, aware of the squad's presence. Their lifeless eyes held some form of lower intelligence. Some form of motor function that allowed them to move about, as if free of rigor mortis that always accompanies a dead body after an allotted amount of time.

Ben thought as he perched over the ledge. He remembered watching the reports over the television and the little information the news had given them about the virus and its effects. He watched the undead closely. The virus seemed to become more advanced itself, and it had somehow delayed the effects of decay. The skin still began to rot, but not as quickly. The infection looked as if it had somehow binded itself not only to the brain, but to the limbs as well. This, in turn, would cause the host to have almost, if not all, function of the arms and legs, making the zombie itself quicker and faster. The brain seemed to develop and adapt to situations at hand. For example, if the zombie saw a window, it would began it's effort to destroy the man-made barrier.

A heavy hand was placed upon Ben's shoulder, shaking him of his newly found observation. It was Steve.

"Come on man. We've better get going."

Ben brought himself up from the ledge. A loud shatter had perceived the ear of the patrons, confirming Ben's suspicions. The crowd down below had infiltrated the first floor of the building they were on, if they weren't already inside the hospital to begin with.

"Shit.. They've breached the lobby." Said Steve, glancing down below as he watched the frenzied crowd pour into the building.

"Here," replied Ben. "Take this."

He handed him his sidearm; a 9mm.

"Sorry, no hollow points. Not going to be as effective. Thanks to the goddamn Geneva Convention."

Steve took the gun, wondering where the hell this had been when he needed it most. He nodded towards Ben, an unspoken word of "Thanks". Aya hung close to Steve's side, eyes resting on the gun. She didn't know anyone else as well as him, so his presence was warming.

"Don't leave me, okay?" she whispered.

"Okay." He replied.

By this time Miller was at the ventilation shaft, prying the metal vent cover open. He worked vigorously with a look of anxiety across his face. His hands shook somewhat, followed by the sweat that trickled down his brow. Finally, the vent cover popped of with a loud _clank!_ as it slammed against the cement roof.

"Let's go. Quickly." Miller jumped into the darkness of the shaft and slid down, dust obscuring the rest of the view. A few seconds went by, followed by two rounds of semi-automatic gunfire coming out from inside the vent shaft. Then silence.

Ben brought his face close to the opening and began to speak.

"Captain… Cap—"

"It's clear!" a small, disembodied voice rose up from the darkness and the dust. "Hurry now! Get down here before they come!"

"They? Who's they?" asked Aya as she clung close to Steve.

"I don't know." Answered Steve, but as he finished his sentence, he saw a dark green talon clutch the side of the roof.

"Hunters." The Captain's muffled voice echoed back up to them, but barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

Slowly, the clawed hand pulled itself to the ledge of the roof, revealing a somewhat muscular arm covered in dark green scales. The unidentifiable shape let out a small groan in exertion as it hefted itself onto the roof. The remaining few upon the roof had watched in a horrid captivation as the creature came into view. It was so off-worldly that the mind didn't register what it was at first – or what it could've been. Beady eyes swirled with viral-like constellations. It's lower mandible stuck out farther than the upper part, decorated with rows of razor-like sharp teeth. It looked like a skinned gorilla covered in passive scales and secreted a slime-like ooze—possibly used as a function to cool itself. As far as Steve and Aya knew, it could've been someone like themselves, caught up in the advanced stages of viral infection. Hesitation took place as Miller began howling after them down below.

"Aya. Go. Now." Steve muttered, not taking his eyes off the unfathomable creature.

Without hesitating, she pulled herself up into the vent shaft, a small squeal issuing from her lungs as she went down into descent. Steve raised his 9mm eye-level, taking aim as his hands shook slightly. Looking down his sights he fired. His bullet hit the thing in the neck just before the thing dashed into its motion of quickness. He hadn't fired a gun no more than a dozen times in his life, but the simple mechanics of squeeze-and-fire were really user-friendly, and his fair share of video-game experience had of course came into play, helping him a bit more. Joey Connors had his gun raised only a spit-second after Steve, and he had already pulled the trigger and began to pump another round into the shotgun. His buckshot round sprayed the area right behind the creature as it let out something that sounded like a high-pitched grunt.

Steve's eyes grew wide and his mind starting racing. Thinking quickly he turned around and jumped through the shaft, calling up to Ben and the rest of the squad.

"C'mon let's go!"

Ben jumped through the shaft after Steve. Followed by Bill. Joey fired off another round of his 12 gauge before jumping through the vent shaft. Brandon was the last down, firing his gun as he slid through the vent, trying to prevent the thing from following. It let out a shrill cry as it jumped into the ventilation shaft, only to get stuck. Brandon hit the floor with a harsh thud, the screams of the creature following down after him. He looked around and saw the rest of everyone else, including the new surroundings.

"A kitchen? Great."

Miller lay against the double doors of the kitchen, his chest rising and falling quickly. He had his gun drawn and his eyes glancing back and forth quickly. He grabbed a fire axe out from the emergency box and stuck it through the handles, preventing anyone or anything from entering. Heavy hands fell against the door as Miller scooted a metal table in the way, further preventing the dead's access.

"Good, now we have _hunters_ to deal with. And we're surrounded." Breathed Miller as he propped himself against the table to catch his breath.

"Okay, so we went down the vent shaft. That takes us to… what floor?" asked Steve.

"Hmm.. The psychiatric ward is on the 12th floor… and if I remember correctly, the Kitchen is on the 10th floor. The hospital itself consist of 14 floors. " Answered Bill.

"There's a service elevator somewhere on this floor. If we can get to it, then we'll be set. That thing will take us to the basement, and from there, the sewers."

"But how many are we talkin'? How many of those things are beyond those doors?" asked Joey, pointing the barrel of his shotgun towards the barricaded doors.

"Well I haven—" began Bill, but was cut off.

"The hallway is full of 'em," interrupted Miller. "It's completely inaccessible. To go out there would mean certain death."

Ben walked towards the window on the far side of the kitchen. He took another glance around so he could take in his surroundings. On the opposite side of the wall was the double doors, barricaded, blocked away from the crowd of dead people. To his right was another door, possibly leading into a pantry or storage room of some sort. To the left, on the other wall, another set of doors could be seen, with a bloody hand print decorating the circle window on the door. In between Ben and the rest of the group were a few utility tables with cutlery and an island where the sink and dishwasher stood. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing as of yet. Save for that smudge on the window. And the loud noise that consisted of a concoction of decayed fists beating down upon the door that they had barricaded.

Taking one final glance out of the window, Ben was now overlooking the rear parking lot, the area that was mostly zombie-free was now overtaken by the dead. The dead people down below must've somehow slid through the emergency room doors, which were suppose to open by a motion sensor, but the power grid for this block was lacking electricity.

Steve walked to other set of doors—the one with the hand print—and peered out through the window. He had barely a second to react to what he saw. One of those things—"hunters"—were staring right back at him. The creatures face itself was hard to see, because the room beyond the door gave off little light. A deathly sneer with glowing green eyes, followed by a wet squeal.

"Oh shi—!"

A clawed hand swiped at the door with immense strength and quickness. This in turn had caused Steve to fall back on his rear, who followed up with a flick of the wrist, a raise of his arm, his gun going eye-level with the Hunter. Everyone's head jerked in the direction of the monster, faces twisting in disbelief that they were always in the way of trouble.

Steve was the first to squeeze the trigger, his 9mm jerking violently as depleted shells shot out of the chamber. The hunter was screeching ferociously as it jerking opened one of the doors, ripping it completely off its hinges. Three rounds penetrated the hunter's shoulder and bicep, causing the thing's whole left side to jolt back in a dazed fashion, but quickly recoiled from the shots and began its advance upon Steve. He ejected the whole clip—all 18 rounds—into the things torso. The creature's reaction was somewhat surprising. The hunter absorbed the shots, and what Steve thought was a grimace, spread across its demonic features.

A dark and bloody talon was the raised above Steve's head, who put his arms out in an effort to consolidate the hunters attempt in striking him.

Joey raised his shotgun as Cooper came up and grabbed Steve's collar, pulling him out from under the hunter. A deafening blast filled the room along with bright light. Then silence. The hunter fell back as a crimson flower bloomed across the whole of its mid-section. The shotgun was cocked once as a shell fell to the hard surface of the floor, giving off a resonating _clink!_ that sounded off in the wake of the shotgun blast. That's when the creature started its variety of high-pitched squealing from the flat of its back. This was ended abruptly when Joey walked up over the demonic hybrid and ejected one last shell into the its cranium.

"Where in the hell did _that_ come from!" exclaimed Steve, who accepted a fresh clip of ammo from Ben.

"Well, my guess is from that room." Said Joey, pumping the shotgun once while pointing the tip of the barrel through the doorway, which was now minus a door.

Flashlights clicked on, pointing towards the open space that led into the next room. Overturned tables lay here and there, and a rotting corpse sat in a slump, as if they had fallen out of there chair. Gore littered the area that accompanied the dead body. There was a large hole where the head should've been, and the torso was shredded, obviously by the large claws the 'hunter' had.

Steve rose to his feet, still suffering from a fit of anxiety.

"Damn that thing almost had me…"

He entered the room slowly, flanked by Bill with his flashlight, bathing the rest of the room in the military issued soft-blue pubescent light. The remaining part of the room obscured from view came into sight, showing several more bodies heaped in a corner, ridden with the tell-tale signs of struggle and battle that ultimately ended in a horrific death.

"This never gets old, does it?" breathed Bill, his adams apple bobbing up and down.

"Yuck!" sneered Aya, covering her nose up with her sleeve. She walked in stubbornly behind Bill, grasping Steve's shirt and pulling him along.

"That _smell_! I mean, you could smell 'em before you see 'em." Reused Cooper.

The rest of the group filed into the room, illuminating what darkness remained. Droplets of blood dotted the landscape of the room. Several overturned lunch tables were scattered throughout the room, one splintered in two. Signs of battle were even more prevalent as they gazed upon the half-destroyed room. Down on the other end of the room, a set of double doors swayed back in forth, giving way to more darkness. In front of the doors, a ventilation shaft lid was on the floor, a possible entrance to where the Hunter had gained access. Everything was silent, save for the heavy pounding of bloated, decayed fists on the main entrance doors. Miller walked towards the front, his equipment clinking as he went.

"I want an ammo check on all—" _Bang! _**CRASH! **

The barricaded doors came falling down, the objects used to barricade the doors being pushed aside as the victorious grunts issuing forth from the dead crowd. The doorway to the cafeteria, inside the room they were previously in, became packed like a can of sardines as the crowd surged forward, dashing madly over the clutter in the entrance and towards the living entities in the other room. Light poured in from the blocked entrance, showing the sheer amount of creatures that were desperate for a fresh meal.

"Fucking shit!" one of the soldiers screamed.

Steve didn't recognize who said it, because he didn't have time to really think about it. He raised his gun as the first creature ran full sprint towards him. Amazing how the human body was still able to function like it did, even after hours of decay. Aya cowered behind Steve, a small, almost inaudible yelp issuing from her.

**BAM! BAM! BAM!**

Steve's pistol sounded off, the first bullet hitting the zombie in the shoulder. The impact caused it to stumble back somewhat with it's right side jerking violently to absorb some of the shock. Regardless, the zombie kept running, intent on Steve's destruction. His second and third bullet found its mark, decorating the doorway with the inside of the zombie's cranium. The rest of the squad joined in, the room becoming filled with a staccato of gunfire. Ben reloaded his M4, his ears ringing from the sudden explosion of deafening sound.

"Get the hell outta here!" Miller shouted over the loud concoction of gunfire.

He turned on his heel and sprinted for the other set of double doors, the rest of the squad falling back as well. Brandon turned a bit to provide some cover fire. To his frightened disbelief, the M4 didn't respond when he squeezed the trigger, and the unreliability of the rifle came into play as the M4 jammed. To his amazement, the zombies were quicker than he. They were on him before he could even turn a full 180°. He fell to the floor, his gun finally responding as the bullets tore through the nearest creatures abdomen. They were on him and snapping away before Steve could do anything. Steve had craned his neck in mid-run to see what had happened. He began to turn as well, but Aya grabbed his arm and urged him on.

"Steve, I know it's not right, but we can't save him. Keep going!" yelled Aya.

Steve followed Aya, his neck craned in Cooper's direction. His screams echoed off the walls as he remained conscious through it all. The reflex in his hand kept squeezing the trigger before the clip went empty, cutting off his gunfire. Screams followed the remaining survivors hard footsteps that slammed against the linoleum tile, Cooper desperately trying to wriggle free. After what seemed like forever, he finally lost consciousness, then lost vitals.

Connors, Miller, Aya, Ben, Bill, and Steve ran into the solitude of the next room, unaware of what dangers lay ahead.

Several minutes later, Cooper's eyes opened, his gaze dead and lifeless…


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Well, this level consist of five floors," said Al, the Umbrella scientist as he rubbed the red spot on his head. "We're in the R&D sector… unfortunately."

The blow on his head had temporarily fazed him, and it took him a second to grasp his bearings on where he was. The scientist shook slightly, his eyes darting back in forth in the room.

"What do you mean _unfortunately?_ It has to be better than being up there with about a hundred of those things!" said one of the soldiers in the room.

"No—NO. I'd much rather be up at the surface, where we actually have a chance! You don't know what is down here!" said Al, his voice rising.

"Well, Mr. Jenkins, we don't have much of a choice, do we?" Said the Sarge rhetorically.

"And since your with us, you can act as a guide of some sort. Tell us what we're up against."

Al began to speak, trying to calm himself down. He closed his eyes, trying to recollect what horrors him and his colleagues had birthed beneath the earth.

"There's a kennel full of Cerberus, a few Hunter 121 Beta's… We even of a Hypnos III version of the Tyrant… the most formidable of them all. Most of my colleagues have turned into the mammal-hybrid based creatures, most of you refer to as "zombies"."

He sighed, looking down towards the floor. Closing his eyes, he begun to recite a report he wrote earlier that year on the development of the zombies.

"Most zombies move very slowly, and lack the ability to form complex thoughts. These two characteristics make the zombie the easiest enemy to confront. However, when confronted by several zombies in a small area, they can prove to be the most deadly of enemies.

"A zombie has lost any sense of reasoning and is driven completely by instincts. A zombie will pursue its prey, until it has lost enough blood or through decapitation or complete destruction of the head. Most of you have already figured out how to kill them by now though.

"But recently, the virus has began to absorb brain tissue and keep some, if not most motor functions. The studies we have done has shown that, as the virus progresses, the zombies move quicker, become smarter, and use methods not known to the previous, primitive versions of the virus. So basically, what I am saying is, we're up against creatures a lot smarter than we've encountered. My associates were exposed to the higher levels of the virus. We must be careful!"

The soldiers glanced around nervously, shifting uneasily underneath their equipment. Jackson stood next to the massive black man, Sergeant Hawkins. Jackson watched the Sarge as he stood there, taking in the scientists' information with an unfaltering, confident expression.

Jackson felt relief in being in the sergeant's group, knowing that if anyone could lead them out of here alive, it was him.

"Okay, well we've got only one option. We fight through here and—is there a way out of here Al?"

Al jerked his head up, broken from his train of thought.

"Th-there's a stairwell on the far side of the complex. It's about a mile-and-a-half from this location. This complex is relatively large, and I believe the stairwell leads into the basement sector of a regional hospital downtown—which I have come to the conclusion of being overrun by more of these—for a lack of a more comprehensible term—zombies."

Somewhere inside the complex a loud crash ensued, echoing through the walls and ventilation ducts. It had a distinctive sound like metal grinding against glass, and as quickly as it went off, the echo died away. The sound shook everyone of their thoughts, and eyes darted forward to the nearest door.

"… The fuck was that?" whispered on of the soldiers as the room delved into silence.

Al strained his ears, trying to figure out the source of the sound and where it came from.

"Oh go-god.. I d-don't w-wanna be here!!" his whisper coalesced into a loud shriek.

Jackson grabbed Al by the shirt collar and gripped tightly.

"Listen, Al; pull yourself together man! We need you!"

Al tried to collect himself, closing his eyes and taking in shallow breaths. He knew it himself; he needed to stay alive for the rest of the squad so they could make it through. It would be his consolation for creating the demonic hybrids. He felt guilty about helping develop the creatures, and he sought to help the squad destroy the demons. His survival was essential, and he already begun to feel remorseful to what he had unleashed upon the city, and moreover, upon his family, friends.

"Oh-okay… I'm fine now." Al stood up straight, trying to heighten himself even more.

"That crash though, it sounded like it came from containership B, where we hold the biohazardous creatures."

He was only about 5'4", and really round at that. He adjusted his spectacles and tried to slow down his heart rate, savoring the feeling he had in his new found confidence and bravery.

"I think we're good then Sarge." Said Jackson. "Now Al, what can you tell us about what lies beyond those doors?"

Al shuddered, looking off into the wall like he could actually see the room where the disturbance came from.

"Several Re3's—lickers—and a sedated version of the Hypnos Type III Tyrant. And from the sound of that noise, it had to be his tank losing pressure. The end result; the sedatives losing their effect, having him wake up in a rather grumpy manner."

Hawkins and the rest of the group glanced towards the doors, a silent blinking red light flickered on the panel next to the titanium-steel door, reassuring that there was a security clearance needed for entry. Above the door a camera whirred almost inaudibly as it spun slowly on it's axis, a green light below the lens unwavering.

"What about this containership? What kind of creatures did it hold?" asked Hawkins.

Hawkins walked over to the door and leaned on the desk next to the door. It seemed as if the room was a security checkpoint that lead into the confines of the complex. On the desk, there was a computer that was smashed all to hell, and the other desks in the room where scattered, some overturned, with the signs of a rushed exit. Flashlights illuminated what parts of the room the beams of lights happened to land on. Most of the squad had secured the room and put a bullet in the head of a corpse that lie crumpled in a heap over one of the desk, a bite mark gouging most of the person's neck.

The walls seemed thick, and the room itself; suffocating. A low, resonating hum began to go off somewhere deep inside the facility, and every crack in the room became devoured in the white, sterile overhead light. Jackson squinted his eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden exposure of the high-wattage bulbs. As soon as the light came on, it went off, leaving only the flashlights the main source of being able to view anything.

"And the point of that was …?"

"The lights—they keep going on and off. I think the back-up generator is beginning to fail. We lost all source of power around 8:00 am last night. Before the back-ups started to kick in." Explained Al.

"Al, we need you to get this door open." Said Hawkins, wrapping his knuckles against the cold, hard steel of the fancy, hi-tech looking door. "Can you get us through?"

Al glanced towards the keypad at the right, beads of sweat dripping off the tip of his nose. He nodded, shaking off the concoction of sweat.

"Y-yeah, I can get us through."

He parted his way through the heavily armed crowd and passed Hawkins, sliding his ID card and typing in a few numbers into the keypad receiver. The red light to the key code entry blinked red twice, then turned green, followed by a loud _beep!_ that barely emended an echo through out the thick room.

The door's airlocks slowly released, letting off a hissing sound as the door itself began to rise. Weapons were raised in a steadfast manner, the barrel-mounted flashlights on the M4A3's basking the opposing room with the blue-ish white light. It was actually a hallway, and it split into two directions. It went left in one direction, then right. The corridor was eerily silent, save for the mechanical hum that ran through the complex. Hawkins stepped out into the hallway and pointed his rifle to the left, flanked by a few more troops that pointed down the right side of the hallway; they then held there position, covering the rear flanks as Hawkins slowly advanced.

The light on the rifle only illuminated so far, that's why Hawkins only saw the glowing eyes of the creature; eyes that were wide and aware with the undead pathogen. It was one of the undead zombies. Specifically, the man use to be a lab technician, minus half his cheek bone and without a hand. Red, glistening teeth were shown as the creature made its advancement, quickly running into the exposure of Hawkins flashlight. Decayed arms shot out in front of the zombie as the dead man anticipated the arrival of newly found fresh meat.

The thing squealed in a horrific, shrill cry, causing Hawkins to end the undead's misery by delivering a single 5.56mm round into its cranium, causing the zombie's head to jerk back, absorbing the recoil of the round as it fell harshly upon the hard surface of the complex, blood leaking from the gaping hole in its mouth and the newly created exit-wound on its head.

Hawkins didn't flinch a bit. Unmoving, he tiptoed his way down the hall, placing one heavy boot in front of the other to decrease the sound he gave off. He stepped firmly over the corpse as it began to twitch.

Down on the opposite end of the hall, near the security clearance entrance, Jackson held his gaze, along with his rifle, pointed down the short end of the corridor. His flashlight could only go so far, but the light illuminated the hallway down on this end that split once to the left, past an observation room with large, separated windows where he could see several test tubes lined up, the mysterious red glow bathing the liquid and the blackened, unidentifiable creature. The atmosphere in the hall gave off an eerie feeling. It was even more frightening because Jackson hadn't had a clue what was around the corner.. There could be anything waiting for them there. His light shown down the length of the hall, where he could see another door at the end of the hall.

Jackson remained intent on keeping the rear flank secure, his aim being held with steady concentration. Jackson barely flinched as he heard the shrill cry of the creature, and relying on Hawkins instincts, he didn't move as the rifle round echoed up and down the hallway. Not moving his head, Jackson could've sworn he saw one of the creatures twitch inside the test tube as the round emanated off the walls, carrying its echo as it faded, reaching the end of the corridor. The red glow of the large, cylindrilical tube gave off the creepy, incandescent shape of the occupants inside, which moved with a sedated slumber of an experimental creature. Nevertheless, the creatures reacted with the same luxury of those who weren't surrounded by the two-inch thick glass, their senses fully capable, if not more advanced, as the humans that were beginning to fill the hallway.

Loud footsteps could be heard down the hallway that split to the left, past the observation room with the large windows that made viewing the test tubes easier. Heavy, rubber-soled shoes slammed against the tile of the complex, the echo chasing that of the gunfire. Whatever had heard the loud shot was trying to find the source, and Jackson had a feeling that it wasn't friendly.

To his expectations, the footsteps increased their decibel level, which held a tall figure doned in what looked like a mechanical technicians clothes that came into view from around the corner rather quickly, directly in front of the beam of lights. Its face pale, eyes shot with white, diseased anger, and nose dripping blood that spilled everywhere as it walked, the zombie gurgled and snorted as the emotionless expression began to comprehend what to do next. The undead figure dashed towards the source of lights, trying to reach the destruction of Jackson and the rest of the squad with a quickening sprint.

The triggers on the rifles were squeezed simultaneously, several shots ringing out into the darkness of the underground structure as the creature that stood before them went down in a barrage of gunfire. Cordite issued to clog the nasal passage of Jackson's nose as he lowered his rifle a tad bit, looking down upon the bullet-riddled figure as the nerve endings began to misfire, causing the zombie to twitch uncontrollably in its last throes of undead life.

Smoke could be seen swirling in and out of what light was being given off. Down in the observation room, one of the darkened figures moved in a vivid motion, trying to wriggle itself free of the confines of the tube. Then it stopped, due to the sedatives that had zapped it of most of its energy and ATP.

Jackson let out a small gasp, then swallowing hard as he inched down towards the hallway, stepping over the dead body in the process. He reached the three-way intersection of the corridor, with the rest of the unit that didn't follow Hawkins behind him.

Hawkins clicked the button on his headset and spoke into it.

"Hold your position; keep the rear secure until I further advise. I'm going to check out this section real quick and then I'll give you the go-ahead to regroup with me."

"Roger that."

One of the soldiers posted up next to Jackson, who had his rifle pointed down the length of the hallway that split to the left. He hugged the wall as the flashlight illuminated about ten- to fifteen feet down the hallway, which ran past the large windows of the observation room. Jackson's rifle shook in his hands as he tried to maintain a steady aim. That's when the loud clap of hard-soled shoe's could be heard down the hallway he and the rest of the group was posted in.

What could be seen, the length of the hallway ran past the observation room, with the blinking red letters posted above one of the large windows, and down a bit further, ending with a single door and another part of the hallway breaking off to the right. How far it went down, he hadn't a clue.

The footsteps grew louder and increased in clatter. Jackson already knew what the sound held. _More fucking zombies._ All of a sudden, the echoing footsteps stopped as they reached their apex of noise. His light shone down the hall where it split to the left again, and he heard a strange gagging noise, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting. Red liquid could be seen splattering the floor, but the source of where it came from hid itself behind the part of the hall that changed direction. A body hit hard against the floor, and a blood-crusted scalp hit harshly down upon the floor and into the puddle of regurgitated bodily fluids.

"What the hell?" said the guy next to Jackson.

"_My associates were exposed to the higher levels of the virus."_

Al's words reverberated inside Jackson's head, piecing together and coming up with the conclusion that the person had just succumbed into the final stages of the virus.

Heavy breathing could be heard out of the fetid lungs of other zombies, apparently waiting for their fellow associate to become fully under the influence of the virus.

"… wait for it… "

The only viewable source of confirmation was the dome-piece of the victim lying face down in it's puddle of blood, the rest of the body obscured from view due to the abrupt change-of-direction of the hallway. The victim convulsed violently for about 3 seconds, then stopped. A cloud-like vapor was then expelled from the creature's mouth, noting that the zombie was now active.

The things head swiveled quickly towards the light, its face contorted in an unfathomable hatred towards all that was living. The zombie hissed as blood shot forth from its mouth, and it threw itself up onto its legs and charged towards the light, followed by what it appeared to be more of the zombies pouring out from the hall.

"Good god!"

Jackson and the guy next to him simultaneously squeezed their triggers in rapid succession, letting off the burst of their M4A3 automatic rifle fire. 5.56 x 7.625mm machine gun rounds pierced the outer flesh of the zombies, hollow points deteriorating what remained of the barely-functional organs that were slowly decaying inside their body cavities. Jackson and the guy next to him, Spc. Grant, were then joined by the rest of the rear protection, desperately trying to halt the creature's devastating onslaught.

Down the hall, Al jerked his head back towards the rear flank, muzzle flashes dancing across the hard concrete of the Research & Development department. Hawkins' radio set burst to life.

"Rear flank is currently being secured, sir. But goddamn there'r so many of those fuckers!" exclaimed Grant.

"Roger, fall back while providing cover fire if needed. Grant, we don't need anymore casualties!"

"Roger that, sir!"

Al watched Hawkins let his hand off his head set and walked down the opposite side of the hall. Al desperately tried to remember the map he had looked over countless times before, trying to recall what rooms lye ahead, but as of late, he took too many knocks on his head. The hardest coming from when this disaster first started. He had tried to flee the undead by running into the woman's bathroom and hiding in one of the stalls, but the creatures almost overcame him when the crawled underneath the spaces of the stalls.

A vivid picture came into his mind, that of a map of the R&D department.

Al, Hawkins, and about 5 other soldiers were standing in front of the entrance of the communications room. Jackson, Grant and 12 other soldiers were holding the rear flank. Al had guessed the other creatures were coming from the employee housing and lounging, which held about 20 rooms, a cafeteria, break room, recreation center, and lounge area. He also remembered the two observation rooms that held the test tubes, one room holding the more biohazardous creatures, and the other, the one with the large observation windows, holding the lesser of two evils, literally speaking. He believed the loud crash they heard came from Observation room 1.

In the background, the gunfire slowly died down, the loud shrieks of the undead thinning out as pop-shots went off in the rear, the guys guarding the back making sure the remaining zombies weren't getting up for sure.

"Communications are down, so this room won't do us any good." Said Al.

"Also, if you come in contact with the virus, I suggest you remember that room." Stated Al once more, pointing back the way the came towards part of the hallway that separated into a room. The gold plate was incrested with the word "Quarantine" which flickered as Hawkins and some of the soldiers ran their flashlights over it.

The Sarge nodded, turning back down the hall that he had not yet crossed into. He shone his light down and saw that the hall broke into two different directions, a sign that pointed in those directions and read "Bio Development" that pointed to the left and "Research" that pointed to the right.

"You sure we're going the right way?" inquired Sergeant Hawkins.

"Y-yeah, I'm sure. We go through the Research department and it takes us to a service elevator. That should take us to Logistics, which in turn will take us to the surface, in the city."

Hawkins tapped his helm, pressing the button on his headset.

"Grant, bring the rest of the unit towards my position slowly. Keep watch on the rear. I don't want any of those fuckers creeping up on us."

"Yessir, we're on the way."

When the remaining unit caught up with the Hawkins, the crept forward down the hall, taking a right down the three-way intersection, and down the hall into the Research development.

_They certainly do not know what's in store for them. But, soon, they will find out! _thought Al from the safety of the Army National Guard unit.


End file.
